


Between Friends

by Helenish



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenish/pseuds/Helenish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair gets an immense amount of material for his dissertation as Jim's plans go awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Friends

## Between Friends

By Helen

Author's homepage: <http://members.tripod.com/heleninhell/index.html>

* * *

"Sandburg, it's not like you're going to hurt me." 

"I know, I know, but it's a big step for me." 

"just come over here." 

"why?" 

"Well, I can't very well show you how it's done while you're across the room, can I?" 

"okay, all right." 

"C'mon. you've seen me do it a thousand times. You've seen Simon do it, you've seen Connor do it, how hard could it be?" 

Simon had slapped the handcuffs on his desk that morning. 

"Thanks," Jim had said. 

"lose your cuffs again, Jim?" Blair had said, looking up. 

"nope. These are yours, Chief." He tossed them to Blair who caught them, saying 

"what?" 

"I just thought it would be useful--" 

"so you didn't ask me or anything," 

"--since criminals aren't usually in handy-dandy packages of one." 

"I don't--" 

"Look at it this way, Sandburg. If they're handcuffed, then they can't run away, which means I won't have to shoot them." Jim had obviously given this matter a lot of thought, thought Blair, stung from the unusual experience of being unable to get a word in edgewise. 

Which was how he came to be at the loft, on a Tuesday night, being taught to use handcuffs. He had had two beers before Jim managed to convince him to at least try the handcuffs, since his original position had been, "I'll carry them, but I won't use them." 

"well, what if you have to?" Jim had asked, in his reasonable voice. Then he'd calmly defeated all of Blair's reasons, until Blair was left with only, repeating, in a silly voice, 

"well, what if you _have_ to?" Even he realized that that wasn't much of an argument. "okay, you got me," he finally sighed. Jim said, with some enthusiasm, 

"okay." There followed some basics on snapping cuffs on wrists that Blair picked up pretty quickly, 

"There you go, Sandburg, you're a natural," Jim said, at that. 

"You should have been a first grade teacher, Ellison," Blair growled, pleased in spite of himself. 

"okay, so now you're going to handcuff someone's hands behind their back. Come over here," he said, and arranged himself against the wall. "their hands should be like _this_ , and you should," 

"Jim, wait, like how?" 

"um, okay, I'm going to demonstrate on you and then you'll do me." 

"better plan." 

"so up against the wall," Jim said, waving him over. 

"shit, it's the 5-0," Blair muttered, stepping into the place Jim had vacated. 

"so you hold your hands like this," Jim said, pushing his wrists into place. 

"wait a minute." 

"what?" 

"What did I do?" Blair said, grinning into the wall. 

"What did you do?" 

"yeah, man, just cause? What did I do?" 

"I don't know. You knocked over a liquor store. 

"I did not. I stole money from a corrupt corporation to fund my best friend's heart transplant." 

"You mowed down a busload of nuns with a semi-automatic." 

"I robbed from the rich and gave to the poor," Blair laughed, as Jim, pushed him gently up against the wall and said, 

"You been prostituting yourself on street corners to pay for your drug habit again?" 

"who me?" Blair said. Jim kicked his legs apart. "Oh, no, don't run me in," 

"You have the right to remain silent," Jim informed him, 

"oh you've got to be kidding me. Hey, officer, I'll give you a freebie if you let me go," he snickered, shimmying his body a little, and Jim's hand slid down and gave his ass a hard squeeze and Blair collapsed in laughter. Jim hadn't quite gotten the handcuffs closed, so Blair jostled him out of the way, saying, "he makes a break for it," 

Jim lunged after him and bore him to the floor and then they were both laughing and Blair said, 

"hey, it's a vice flashback," and Jim poked him in the stomach and said, 

"it is _not_." 

There was some more friendly wrestling until Blair poked Jim in the eye with an elbow and in Jim's ensuing 

"ow, _fuck_ , Sandburg," and Blair's 

"I'm sorry, man, just, hey, you got it dialed down?" The handcuffs were forgotten. They sat, leaning up against the coffee table, still huffing a bit. Jim held his watery eye and said, thoughtfully, 

"Why do people always imagine that vice work is so gay? I mean, why would it be gay? It's not like gay people really do a lot of illegal things--they're actually a pretty law abiding population, on the average." 

"okay," Blair said. 

"Do you know what I spent most of vice doing?" Jim demanded. "It wasn't gay stuff and it wasn't pretending to be a fucking pimp. Do I look like a pimp to you? I mean, I spent most of the time trying to break up illegal gambling rings. Sometimes we got to bust massage parlors, you know? That was a big vice weekend. The only undercover thing I ever had to do in the sex industry was pretend to be a bookkeeper, so I could get a look at the massage parlor's books. It was fucking awful." 

"But you're so good at balancing your checkbook." 

"Yeah, well, this was bad." 

"really? Really, you never pretended to be a pimp or a, a bondage master or anything?" 

"no, Sandburg, I did not go undercover as an exotic dancer. I wasn't getting a lot of illegal man on man action. I didn't have to play kinky bondage games in the name of the law." 

"that ass squeeze seemed practiced, is all." 

"shut up." 

"I'm surprised I can even identify a hand on my ass, lately." 

"huh?" 

"You know I've been seeing that biology woman," Blair sighed. 

"the tall one. with the hair." 

"yeah. very observant. That's actually a little creepy, Jim." 

"Sandburg, all your girlfriends are tall. Taller than you, anyway. And they all have hair." 

"yes yes. I'm short; it's not such a big shocker at this point, Jim. Can we get back to the _problem_?" 

"bring it on." 

"okay. I don't know what it _is_ with this woman, but I cannot get any action." 

" _there's_ a national emergency," Jim chuckled. 

"no, you know, it's stuff like this that makes me worry. It's like, the holes in the dike, you know?" 

"no." 

"The holes. That the water comes through before the whole dike crashes down under an ocean of grey hair and Alzheimer's and never seeing a woman naked ever again." 

"Chief. You're thirty." 

"Yeah, and soon I'm gonna be forty and then I'm gonna be dead." 

"what are you being so paranoid for?" 

"Even paranoid people get old. Just, okay, hypothetical situation, you're a woman." 

"I'm a woman." 

"yeah. a beautiful woman who agrees to go on a date with me." 

"is failing eyesight one of the holes in the dike?" 

"Will you shut up, man? This is serious--it's really fucking with my worldview." 

"Okay, okay, I'm a woman," Jim said, raising his hands in defeat. 

"So I pick you up and I take you out to dinner-- 

"Where?" 

"Where? What does it matter? It's food, I feed you, I pay, which I can ill-afford." 

"um, I think I might see where you're going wrong here." 

" _Okay_ , it's, I take you to a very nice Italian restaurant. Romantic. Dimly lit." 

"Can I order whatever I want?" 

"Yes. You can order whatever you want," Blair shouted. 

"All right," Jim said, mollified. 

"Happy? Okay, so I pick you up and I wear nice clothes and conversation is on mutually agreeable topics and you look at me like you're not my skeptical jerk roommate---" 

"Sorry, sorry. How bout this?" 

"Better." 

"And then I take you home, and make all the right noises, and _you_ make all the right noises about what a nice time you had, and we agree to do it again and we're standing right at your door and, you're leaning against the door looking inviting and _nothing_ " He thumped his knee with a fist and Jim said, patiently, 

"No, I don't know what you're doing wrong," 

"Really," Blair said, suspiciously 

"Really." 

"Because, I mean, I can't, I mean, you have to be cruel to be kind." 

"Naw, just the description made me want to jump your bones." 

"heh. Yeah right." and Jim leaned over and caught him in a kiss. 

It was a bad angle and he basically missed Blair's mouth entirely, and Blair rolled to his knees and got him in a headlock, saying 

"hey. hey. _hey_! You _do_ know what hypothetical _means_ , right? You can cool it on the man of action thing." 

"sorry," Jim grinned. 

"Yeah, well, very funny. Could you help me _out_ , here?" 

"I guess not." 

"oh well." 

"Hey, Sandburg," Jim said, his voice soft and dark, 

"yes?" 

"you wanna learn how to handcuff someone?" 

* * *

"well. I guess it's a good thing I learned how to handcuff someone," Blair said to the van at large. "because, you know, they might decide they were sick of getting facials and come out here and do something illegal." They were running surveillance on some drug dealers, and Blair was trapped in the van with Meghan and Rafe outside a spa. Jim was inside. 

"getting a fucking massage, as we speak, no doubt," griped Blair. "are there any snacks?" 

"It's not an airplane, you know." Rafe said. 

"I have some pretzels," Meghan said. The pretzels were gone twenty minutes later. 

"Does it seem hot in here to you?" Blair asked. He fidgeted with his headset. He fidgeted with the pretzel wrapper. 

"Do you mind?" Meghan asked. 

"sorry." 

After an hour more of watching people steam in the sauna, Blair said,

"my mind's gonna explode from the boredom." 

"oh, come on, it's not so bad. Nudity," Meghan offered. 

"yeah. male nudity. I know what that looks like Meghan. It's not that entertaining." 

"too bad." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Nothing." Rafe said. 

"oh." 

There were another fourteen minutes of silence. 

"what do you mean, 'nothing?'" Blair asked. 

"nothing," Meghan said brightly. 

"well, you must have meant something." 

"look, it isn't a big deal," she said, fiddling with her headset. 

"then tell me," 

"okay okay, you're just making a much bigger deal out of this than," 

"Tell me, Connor, or I'll kick your Down Under ass." 

"threats won't work on me," she said, crossing her arms defiantly. 

"Tell me, or I'll ask Simon to assign me to the next security detail." Blair grinned wickedly at her and she said, hurriedly, 

"It's nothing, I just meant, too bad for Jim." 

"Too bad for who?" 

"for--" 

"oh I heard you. What do you mean by that?" 

"Has someone hit you on the head with something lately, Sandy? You're being very dense." 

"Just. Do me a favor and enlighten me." 

"You're telling me you never noticed, that, um, Jim has developed a certain fondness for you." 

"I'm his friend," Blair said. 

"I mean, a _certain_ fondness," she raised her eyebrows. 

"oh whatever, Meghan. Good one. very good." 

"I'm not kidding Sandy." 

"and your evidence for this?" 

"You mean, other than the way that he incessantly paws you? Looks at your bum? Bit the heads off the last three people who asked if you were seeing anyone?" 

"He does not. And what people?" 

"Elizabeth from records, Delilah the uniform, and Al who rewired the lights in Narcotics." 

"but. no one said. _Delilah Newcombe_ asked about me?" 

"yep." 

"And Jim said what, exactly," Blair said, tightly. 

"He said, and I quote, 'he doesn't date people from work.'" 

"That's not _true_." 

"Jim wants to jump your bones, Sandy. I can't imagine how it managed to escape your notice." 

"Meghan, you're crazy. You've been boosting the weed from the Narcotics lockup," Blair said, desperately. 

"He thinks you're quite the hot number," Meghan was enjoying herself by now. 

"It's not, this is all, Rafe. It's not true," Blair appealed. 

"She's making it up," Rafe said. 

"oh yes, it's all a terrible lie," Meghan sang out, "He just has a good memory for exactly how you like your coffee and your favorite deli." 

"Sandburg. She's just teasing you," Rafe said. And this, oddly, was what convinced him. It was delivered with perfect inflection, not trying too hard, slightly weary, and this somehow did what Meghan's loopy smirking couldn't. 

There was silence in the van for the rest of the day. Meghan tried to share her sandwich with Blair but he said he wasn't hungry. 

"Hey, Sandy," she said, as they were leaving, "I didn't mean it." 

"mm." He said. 

"It's not true. Rafe's right. I was just having you on. Can't think why I said it--I mean, you'd notice if it were true." 

"of course," he said. "you really had me though." She laughed in relief. 

* * *

Occam's Razor, Blair thought. The simplest rationale is most likely true. It had never been his favorite way of going about things--he preferred long and convoluted, actually. But working with Jim had given him respect for the simplest way out. On the drive home, he thought of something Jim had said just last week, questioning a suspect: 

"people don't say things 'just for no reason.'" 

Jim pulled the truck up to his favorite deli and asked if he wanted a sandwich. 

"why would I want a sandwich?" Blair asked. 

"I don't know, maybe because you're hungry?" Jim smiled. 

"Why here?" Blair persisted. 

"Don't you like this place?" 

"I'm not hungry." Blair said. He snapped at Jim again when they got home and Jim asked if he wanted some 'tea or something.' 

"what's _your_ problem," Jim said, finally getting a little angry. 

"hey, I don't know, maybe I spent the whole day in that _stupid_ van being enlightened about your ill-starred lust for me." It sounded ridiculous as soon as he said it and he waited for Jim to laugh or make a joke about sniffing glue in the surveillance van, but Jim only said, heavily, 

"Sandburg," 

"No, just tell me. Is it true? Do you, is that, just tell me it's not true, tell me it's all a big joke, I mean, you got me, ha ha, Jim. hysterical." 

"It's true," Jim said, a slow flush creeping up his face from his collar. 

"It's true? No." 

"Look, is it really that big a deal?" 

"Yes, of course it's a big deal, how could it not be a big deal?" Blair said. 

"What you've never wanted anyone before?" 

"Yeah but I never lived with them under false pretenses, you know, I never, you know, looked at them with my Sentinel vision." 

"I never." 

"Save it, Jim," 

"It's not a crime to look," Jim said, defensively. 

"You weren't just looking the other night," Blair said, quickly, and Jim took a step back, hands up, saying 

"hey," 

"Don't 'hey' me, you squeezed my ass under false pretenses." 

"You started it," Jim said. And Blair said, 

"How come everyone knew about this but me," 

"Maybe you were just oblivious to anything that wasn't about you," Jim said, evidently deciding to go on the offensive. 

"Maybe I was living with a creep," Blair retorted. 

"You can stop acting like you've been violated any minute now," Jim informed him. 

"Jesus, I bet you were excited when we got so comfortable together that we just wore our underwear at breakfast, huh. I bet that made you real hot," Blair sneered. 

"It bothers you so much, you can leave," Jim said stiffly. 

"This friendship sucks," Blair said, furiously. "I mean, it's nothing new, women always pretend to be my friend so they can get into my pants, but I would have thought you'd choose a creative way of going about it." 

"oh, what, like being a Sentinel? Like needing you to get me out of a zone out? Like it only working when you touch me? Like that?" 

"You made that up?" Blair looked at him, stunned. " _Shit,_ Fuck you, Jim. Fuck. You _don't_ need me, do you?" 

"Of course I fucking don't. At first, yeah, but a three year old could yank me out of a zone--it's not like you have some sort of special skills." 

"Well, well, well," Blair stuttered, searching for something to say, "what the fuck did Incacha say about me being the Shaman?" 

"Do you know what Shamans do?" Jim said, derisively, "They sit in their huts a lot and they carve weird shit on their bodies to please the gods and every once in a while they come out and try to convince the Sentinel that he should carve weird shit on his body. Incacha was a terrific guy, but a rotten Shaman, which is probably the only reason that I'm not covered with weird carvings." 

"Oh, so one rotten Shaman passed it on to the next." 

"yep. Sorry to break it to you, Sandburg, but I only keep you around because of your hot body. It's not like you're any great shakes at back-up. It's not like I enjoy having my ears talked off." 

"How did this get to be about you insulting me? You're the one who wants me, let's not forget that--you're the one who fantasizes about me, naked. I assume it's naked anyway, although god only knows what kinds of sick fantasies you have hidden away in there. Not like there's anything else that might take up room." 

"Oh, I'm so boring and unintellectual,"Jim mocked. 

"Yeah, you are, Jim, I mean, I have to admit, you aren't bad as projects go and the housing is good. You know my friend Angie? She's doing a study on this religious cult that flagellate themselves and periodically give themselves minor botulism to atone for their sins. To become a part of the group, she has to do all that too--she has to blend, you know. All I have to do to blend is drink some beer and be a total asshole." 

"You may be an asshole, but you're terrible at blending. You know what people usually ask when they walk into the bullpen? 'Who's that?" they say. And they point at your natural-fiber wearin', tofu eatin', useless grad student living off the rest of our honest labor ass." 

"fuck you." 

"fuck you." 

"fuck you." 

"fuck you." 

"Oh my god," Blair said, in disbelief. "You think I'm gonna get so pissed that I'll fall into your arms and we'll end up fucking." 

"fuck you." 

"You watch too many movies, Jim. Crappy movies that I would never watch if I weren't doing research for my dissertation. Which now has a whole new chapter, by the way, on lying stinking assholes." 

"I thought you were my friend." 

"I'm not your friend, I'm not your fucking friend, don't ever talk to me again," Blair said, and left. 

* * *

He moved his stuff out the next day. He'd saved a fair amount living with Jim, enough for a smallish studio apartment near campus. He went to the apartment when he knew Jim would be out on the stakeout. He called Simon and told him he was going to have to work at the university full time for a while. Oh no, the dean was on his ass, etc., etc. 

He didn't think of it as a permanent solution, but Jim had made him so angry, he needed time to cool off. It probably wasn't such a good idea to live there if Jim really did feel that way, anyway. Which was weird. _weird_. It was so fucking weird. He could barely think about it. 

After two weeks, he started to get used to it. One job instead of two--more time to chew the fat, to catch up on some reading. One of his friends suggested some recent books and he found himself asking if he could borrow them, 

"no problem, I can just drop them off at your place tonight, if you want," she said. 

"you knew I moved, right?" 

"No. So you're not living with Jim anymore." 

"No, just, time for something new, you know." 

"oh. hm. Does he need a new roommate?" She smirked at him. 

"No. Why?" 

"jeez, relax, I was just joking, Blair. You know. Jim's hot, I'd like to live with him, ha ha." 

"oh." 

"yes. okay. really not funny." 

"you think he's hot?" She looked embarrassed at that and muttered, 

"yeah, he's _dreamy_ \--is that the new edition of that text?" she said, pointing to his desk. 

"would you mind elaborating on that?" Blair said, ignoring her attempts to change the subject. 

"why?" 

"You know my dissertation? Thin blue line? Well, one of the chapters is on, uh, how the populace perceives the police as a fantasy--that somehow fantasies of safety and order get blurred with the sexual." 

"okay. Blair. Have you seen Jim?" 

"Yes, a guy, about six feet tall, big, yes, I've seen him. I don't have law enforcement fantasies." 

"Neither do I. I was just making an innocent remark about--" 

"Okay, okay, then you're in the control group." 

"You really want me to blather on about this." 

"Blather away. Can I tape record this?" 

"This is _embarrassing_ ," she whined. 

"research purposes. I can even have you sign a disclaimer." 

"That's okay. You have to understand, Blair, this is a university, and present company excepted, of course, the picking are slim. You sort of have to choose between skinny and flabby and not so skinny and, uh, also flabby. And that's okay, I mean, I like guys for their minds, mostly, and god knows I'm no supermodel, but Jim is really nice to look at." She paused, and Blair prompted 

"go on," 

"He's very tall, you know and he's just, obviously a very tactile person. And he has nice eyes. And nice hands." 

"hands." 

"yes, nice hands. And he has that strong jaw thing and, uh," 

"and?" Blair said. 

"oh I was just going to say, that Jim plays into all those stupid fantasies I have about making emotionally closed off people fall in love with me and, um, also all those fantasies where I actually get to do a guy with muscles. Who can pick me up and stuff." 

"um," Blair said. 

Blair was waiting on the couch when Jim got home. He hadn't turned on the lights. 

"What're you doing here," Jim said, without looking in his direction. He didn't turn on the lights either. 

"Came to see you," Blair said. 

"How did you get in?" Jim asked. 

"spare key." 

"Let me have that," Jim said, snatching it from his hand and walking to the kitchen to get a beer. 

"I have a proposition for you," Blair said. 

"I'm not interested." He cracked the beer open. 

"Oh, I think you're interested in this." 

"What is it then?" 

"I just thought, since we're not friends anymore, there could be some changes." 

"changes." 

"Ever been to a bar, Jim?" 

"you're being a little erudite for my slow policeman brain, there, Sandburg." 

"You go to a bar on a Friday and you wear a clean shirt, because you think, 'hey, maybe I'll get lucky.' And you see someone at the end of the bar, and perhaps they aren't everything you've ever wanted, but they're good enough, and they're _new_ , and they smile and you wonder what they'd be like in bed." 

"Go away, Sandburg," 

"And so you talk to them, and you really have nothing to say, but that doesn't matter either and then they take you home and you have mind-blowing sex because you don't know them and they don't know you and you aren't friends and they aren't gonna be mad when you don't want some big emotional shit with them." 

"You're fucked up." 

"Like you've never done it." 

"So what if I have?" 

"Jim." 

" _what?_ " 

"I'm wearing a clean shirt." And Jim looked at him and nodded and Blair could see when he made the decision and he had expected Jim to just leap on top of him, to kiss him, he had expected to be lying in a heap of lust within about eighteen seconds of walking into the apartment. But Jim leaned back against the kitchen counter and said, 

"take it off," and when Blair looked at him confusedly, said. 

"The shirt. The shirt, take off your shirt." Blair began to unbutton the shirt, but Jim shook his head and said, 

"no, slower." Blair blushed, but kept on undoing the shirt. He'd stripped for girlfriends before, but they had always been giggling, usually already naked, waiting for him. The room was illuminated only by the oven light and a few stray streetlights. The silence hummed in his ears. His right elbow clicked loudly; he could hear his harsh breathing. He finished unbuttoning the shirt and dropped it on the floor and Jim said, 

"You want me?" 

"Jim," he said, exasperated. 

"No, you pick up someone in a bar, you say all sorts of nice things to them, about how they're hot and how you want them, how you can't wait. So let's hear it." 

Blair wondered when he'd lost control of this particular confrontation, how it had happened, he felt faintly ashamed. He knew Jim could see him and he couldn't see Jim very well, he was only a huge dark shadow and Blair thought [what the fuck are you doing, what the fuck are you getting yourself into, he could really hurt you, he's a fucking _stranger_ ] and Jim put down the beer and walked calmly over to him and said, 

"Fine. I'll start. What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" and he ran a cool hand along Blair's cheekbone. He took off his jacket and dropped it and he took off his shoulder holster and Blair realized that he better get writing on the chapter about the sexual element of society's relationship with the police. Jim had stopped undressing and was looking at him expectantly, so he blurted out, 

"What's your sign?" and he half expected Jim to laugh at that, the old Jim would have, the old Jim would have cuffed him on the shoulder and said, 'that's pathetic, Sandburg.' The old Jim, on the other hand, wouldn't have pulled off his t-shirt and dropped it on the floor. And he wouldn't have reached out and put his hand against Blair's chest, his index finger finding a hole in his undershirt right over Blair's heart, and said, softly, 

"Nice shirt. Wanna fuck?" And [shit, I'm supposed to be the articulate witty one here,]Blair thought, as Jim waited for the answer, 

"yeah." he found himself saying, "yeah, yeah yeah," and Jim was on top of him, clumsily pulling the undershirt off, pressing him against the floor, saying against his throat, 

"you smell damn good," pulling Blair's legs apart and shoving one muscular thigh in between them, and Blair discovered that he was hard, that he had been hard since Jim had grabbed the key from his hand and his hips arched up as he found that Jim's thigh was the perfect thing to rub himself off against and he'd had good orgasms before, with himself, with other people, orgasms that restored his faith in the basic wonder of nature, the good of the world, but this was just destroying him, pinned down, nearly helpless, Jim sucking on his shoulder and lunging against Blair's own thigh. Blair caught a glimpse of the shadowed ceiling, 

"gee, it's really far up there," he thought and then Jim was licking his nipple, biting his collarbone and the orgasm did destroy him, left him shaking for long seconds with his hands clenched somewhere on Jim's back, Jim coming too, against him, hot and wet. 

Jim rolled off him and left him on the floor. He was happy down there. The click of the door woke him from his haze and he sat up and found that Jim was gone. He'd left a pair of Blair's pants by his head and a glass of water. [That's where those pants went,] Blair thought, numbly, drinking the water. 

* * *

Two nights later, he was shifting nervously on his feet outside Jim's door when Jim yanked it open, staring at him. 

"hey," Blair said--and even though he had very carefully planned several things to say, he never got to say any of them, because Jim pulled him inside and shoved his backpack off his shoulders 

This time they didn't even make it to the floor, Jim just pushed him up against the wall and started kissing him, opening his pants and jerking him off, strong sure hands on his cock, agile tongue fucking his mouth. He came and then Jim's hands were back on his head, wiping semen through his hair and down his neck as he tilted Blair's head back for a hot wet hungry kiss along his jugular and when Jim released him his knees couldn't hold him and he sank to the floor as Jim opened his own pants and jerked himself off, standing over him, hands slick with Blair's own semen. 

Luckily, Blair had thought to bring a change of clothes. 

* * *

This is a terrible thing I'm doing, Blair thought. This is definitely not right. 

Jim showed up at his door late on Tuesday and this time Blair was ready and when Jim nodded at him and walked in the door, Blair said, 

"wanna get lucky?" before Jim was all over him. He had to say it very quickly. 

Jim fucked him that night; it was his first time. He could hardly believe it had happened the next day, wouldn't have, except he was sore. It had happened at a sort of unreal fever pitch, Jim's insistent tongue on his hole, then his fingers, waiting so long that Blair had long ago forgotten any reservations he might have had, waiting until he forgot about the neighbors and that tomorrow was garbage day, forgot everything but how much he wanted Jim inside him. 

This feeling became a normal feature of his week. Within about four days, Jim had figured out more about his body than Blair had ever known, which meant that Blair spent a lot of time in a crumpled heap. He spent a lot of time waking up alone and finding reddened marks in the mirror whose origin he only vaguely remembered. 

This wasn't like him, it wasn't like he was a control _freak_ or anything, but he had liked to sometimes be in control. He liked watching people come, their mouths open, their bodies spasming, he liked it, he was good at it. He also found he was good at other things, because after those first few frantic times, Jim started making him ask for it, hovering over him, huge and hot, touching him teasingly, saying, 

"come on, you can do better than that," as Blair, panting, throbbing, frantically cast around for some way to make him just get _on_ with it, already. 

* * *

"It's a pleasure to see such a young faculty member take such an interest in the workings of the department, Mr. Sandburg," Professor Cole smiled at him, 

"Blair, please," he said, automatically. 

"Eleanor. You were taking some detailed notes--I'd be interested to see them; I didn't actually think much got accomplished this meeting. I was wondering what you saw." 

"uh, actually, I was experimenting with a kind of Swahili short hand. And it's, uh, sacred, to the. You know. I can't just show it to everyone." 

"of course," she smiled. "well. I have a class." Back in his office he slumped in relief against his chair, because what the paper actually said, in neatly bulleted text, was 

  * Fuck me, Jim. 
  * I want you. Please fuck me on your cock. 
  * I want your cock inside me. 
  * You're the only one I want. 
  * Give it to me. 
  * You're so big, I need you, please, I'll do anything you want. 
  * Touch me. touch my cock. Suck my cock. 
  * Kiss me. 



About half of this was crossed out.

"This is no good," Blair said out loud and ripped it in eight pieces before he threw it away. That weekend, he said all of it and more, as Jim straddled him and kissed his way down his body, growling, 

"keep going," whenever Blair stopped, until all he could say was 

"please. _please_." And _thank god_ it was good enough because Jim lifted him and turned him said, "keep your knees just like that," and opened him up and fucked him, kneeling between his legs, covering him, licking his neck. He was big enough that he could have kissed Blair on the mouth, even in this position, if Blair's head hadn't been buried in a pillow, trying to muffle his sobs of pleasure. 

He wasn't sure whether he didn't want Jim to hear him or whether he was trying to keep the noise he was making from his own ears, but it didn't matter and it didn't work, because Jim tugged on his shoulder and brought his head up, rumbling 

"no, I want to hear you," and ran a hand along Blair's chest, touching a nipple, moving lower until Blair half-screamed, 

"okay. _okay_." 

* * *

He thought that was bad, he thought that was the worst it could possibly get, but then Jim started talking and this was worse yet. It made him want to scream and it made him want to cry and it made him so turned on it felt like his skin was turning inside out and he wondered if he'd even known what being turned on _was_ before Jim called him on the phone, on the fucking phone in his office and said, 

"I'm gonna fuck you tonight." 

"oh," he'd said, and looked in panic at the girl he was tutoring, as Jim continued, 

"You want me to, you want me to fuck you." and then hung up and Blair swallowed and said, 

"wrong number," and proceeded to tell the girl a number of supremely incorrect facts about tribal warfare. 

And, yes, _of course_ , he tried to talk about it, to say, 

"Jim, I don't think, Jim, maybe," but it was hard, damn hard, to talk to someone who interrupted you calmly and said, 

"I want you to suck my cock, I want you to get me hard so I can fuck you," and in his rare calm moments, Blair wondered when his life had become the most bizarre twisted porno. On the good side, the chapter, now entitled: **_Yes, Officer_ : law enforcement and civilian fantasy**, was coming along quite nicely. 

Perhaps, in the past, he had accused Jim of being an idiot, of being unable to read people, but if asked now, he would have taken it all back, because the weekend that he finally steeled himself, that he finally jerked himself out of Jim's grasp, and said, 

"not, no, I'm not doing this anymore, Jim, no," Jim looked at him and said 

"okay." and Blair thought [okay? okay. good, then. Fine.], until Jim said, without even a trace of the victor's smile on his face, not even a check and check and checkmate smirk, 

"I wanted you to fuck me, but you know, okay." 

"what?" Blair said. They were in his office, which Blair had carefully planned, because he knew there was no way that he could prevent himself from giving in if he were at the loft or at his own apartment. Jim smiled, lazily, shirt rumpled, and Blair couldn't imagine a time when this man hadn't been an object of desire, as Jim said, 

" _You_ know, Sandburg. Your cock, my ass." and it was the 'Sandburg' that did it, Jim so rarely called him anything but 'you' these days, it was almost like old times. So he did Jim on the ratty green couch in his office, trying hard to muster some of the control and calm Jim brought to the act, saying yet more things he couldn't even believe he'd said, later. 

The winner, he decided, was: "you have the most perfect ass". Blair had always hated sex that made him feel ridiculous in the cold light of day. And he couldn't shake the feeling that Jim was somehow making fun of him, that this was all the most elaborate set up in the world for a terrible joke. When he had almost convinced himself of this, when he had gotten to the point where he knew he had to end this, that it was hurting both of them, the way Jim had shaken and panted underneath him came back in technicolor detail, one of Jim's knees pressed against his chest, the other snaked around Blair's hip, his nipples hard, his mouth straining to be kissed, and he'd think, feebly, [oh well, it's not _so_ bad is it? It's consensual.] Then the whole thing would be moot, of course, because Jim would show up and do him. 

Then followed eleven days in which they did things that Blair hadn't even known he fantasized about: he fucked Jim across a washer in the laundry room and Jim undressed him and blew him without even taking off his jacket and they had sex sitting and standing and on the kitchen counter and the coffee table and sixty-nined on the balcony and Blair began to wonder how Jim was getting any work done with all these ideas rattling around in his head. He, himself, certainly wasn't getting any work done. 

On the morning of the twelfth day, the phone rang and Jim's quiet "hello?" was at the other end. Blair sat down in his chair and prepared himself for another round of ferociously dirty propositions, already half hard, but Jim only said, 

"um," which was a change. Blair hadn't heard Jim say "um" for several months now. Jim always knew what he wanted, never hesitated. There was a long pause before Jim said, 

"I won't be coming to your place any more. And I don't want you at the loft." 

"What?" Blair said, erection wilting. 

"Seems clear enough. We're done." and what he meant was 'I'm finished with you,' and Blair, veteran of many breakups, although not usually ones that went this way, said. 

"Yeah, I got it. Okay, then. Nice fucking you, Jim." and hung up the phone. 

He hadn't really believed that Jim only wanted his body, no matter what he'd said. He'd thought, as long as Jim was coming around, that there was still a chance that they could get back to where they had been. [And fucking his brains out was really a clever plan to get the friendship back on track,] he scolded himself, sourly. 

"Oh well," he tried out loud, although he didn't really feel oh well-ish. He felt god dammit straight to fucking hell-ish and Jim had grown tired of him after two months, two fucking months, and he wasn't tired of Jim yet. He didn't know if he could ever have been. 

He did, at least, get some work done in the next days. He didn't eat much--he felt something like he was in shock. It was hard to remember to do things. He kept going to bed and realizing that he hadn't brushed his teeth and the terrible feeling which used to mean that he's left something important at home--a book, his keys--now accompanied him all the time. The worst thing was how normal he looked in the mirror. He didn't look like the man who burnt out the bottoms of two of his pots making tea; he looked normal, he looked good, even. 

He had good evidence for this. For instance, that women kept asking him out. And he, oddly enough, kept blinking at them and having no idea what to say. 

"hey, Blair," she said, sitting down next to him, opening her bag lunch. In his bag, he had a dry package of ramen noodles and an apple. He was considering which one to start eating, but they both seemed like too much of a commitment. 

"Anna." 

"You free tonight?" She started eating her ham sandwich. Pretty girl, he thought. Very. 

"I don't--" 

"Oh come on. It'll be fun. You might get lucky," she grinned, waving the sandwich at him teasingly. 

"Oh what, you're psychic now?" he dredged up a smile. 

"Nope. Know my own mind." 

"I don't think." 

"Just between friends," she said, and Blair couldn't stop his harsh laughter. It was an ugly sound and she looked at him, startled. 

"Uh, Anna, I sorta got burned recently." 

"okay." she said, looking at him closely. He decided on the apple. 

"I'll trade you a banana for that apple," she said, peering into her bag. 

"deal," he said. They spent the rest of the lunch hour talking about Rudyard Kipling. Nice neutral subject. 

It wasn't that he'd gotten burned recently, he admitted to himself in the dark privacy of his office, but that Anna, pink and gold and funny, wouldn't do it for him tonight. He couldn't remember the last wet dream he'd had--or even the last dream with sex in it, which was a new record for him--because Jim had used it all up, made it go away. He was having withdrawal symptoms. His dick hurt; his stomach hurt. He didn't feel like beating off. And maybe not having Jim come around every few days and eat him alive was better in the long run, (it was certainly easier on his pride), but he missed it. 

And all this convoluted thinking came down to the only thing he hadn't wanted to say even to himself, which was that it wasn't Anna he wanted. He wanted someone stronger than he was, he wanted to be fucked, he wanted a man. Hard to admit, that. He had almost been able to ignore it with Jim, _Jim_. Jim was a special case, it wasn't like fucking a man, he hadn't thought of it in those terms at all. 

* * *

The club was loud, and it hurt his ears, but there were a lot of men. Blair grinned in spite of himself, grinned at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. He'd been so nervous on the way here, but it was just a club. Not the sleaze pit he had imagined--he'd had all sorts of tortured visions of having his ass grabbed and being called "luscious," or something, but he'd just walked in and sat down at the bar and one man had nodded at him companionably. It was dark and Blair's eyes were just starting to acclimate to it when the bartender handed him his beer. He wondered what he ought to do before deciding to do what he normally did at a club, which was, to look around and find a likely someone. Figure out what he wanted. 

Someone, for instance, like that: 

A big man, not as big as he had dreamt Jim, but big, larger than the man he was pressing against the wall, leaning against him, one hand gently at his waist, touching him softly. There. affectionate. Jim had been gentle with him, often, but never affectionate. It was nice to see, and Blair was halfway to a fantasy already, which, although it didn't include a white picket fence, included a nice man, Sunday afternoons, hot sex, wool sweaters, maybe even walks on the beach, when the two men separated, the smaller one grinning up at the larger one, who was asking him something, tilting his head slightly to hear and. 

It was Jim. 

Blair felt himself blush, and knew it was half because of the fantasy he'd been having and he had to get out of there, get out of this room full of men with hopes that he now realized were stupid anyway. 

He'd lived with Jim for three years and Jim had never touched him that way, never sexually and fondly at once, never. He'd touched him with promise, but only to promise the falling oblivion of orgasm. He found his car and leaned against it in blind panic, only able to think of Jim taking that man home. [He didn't even _look_ like me,] thought Blair, which would have been a comfort, because, of course, he'd been planning to find a Jim clone, someone with whom he could close his eyes and pretend and come to find out, Jim was [ _fuck_ ] there and just with some other guy, which meant that Blair had just been some other guy, which hardly seemed possible [ _three years_ ] and [ _Peru_ ] and everything and well, he'd perhaps known all along that Jim didn't really need him, that he was helpful, perhaps, but not necessary. How useful could a Sentinel be if he'd shatter into a million pieces without a guide? Jungle life was too unpredictable for complete dependence. [And face it anyway], he told himself, [you didn't want him to need you as a guide, you didn't care if he thought that meditation stuff was bullshit, if he never needed you to get him out of a zone again. You didn't want him to need you at all. You wanted him to want you, you wanted, better than need, want. Want.] 

It had started to rain, which was good, because Blair thought he might cry, at how pathetic he was, with his wanting, his sitting in his office and wanting _wanting_ things to be different, his terrible sniveling in a parking lot while Jim just got on with it. Man of action. Got on with everything, with life, with new places to put his mouth and his dick and there wasn't a damn thing Blair could do about it. He'd spoiled it in the first place. 

And even now, [just _look_ at yourself] some part of himself was screaming in an agony of shame, he was waiting for Jim to come out and find him, because some stupid part of him was hoping that Jim had seen him, picked up his heartbeat over the bewildering thump of music, the contented mutter of the other man, because _of course_ he wouldn't dial down for something that made Blair's ears hurt. [Stupid, stupid], waiting for Jim to whirl him around in the parking lot and tell him how much he cared or some other Hallmark bullshit. 

"You're the only one for me, Blair" Blair said to himself, his voice sounding tinny in his ears. He realized he was getting wet and got in the car, slowly, his back hurt, [sitting on your ass all day, reading, and that's all you'll do from now on] He leaned his head against the steering wheel. He waited for some time, but Jim didn't come. 

And that was bad enough, a terrible weekend in which he hadn't been able to even wallow in misery because he'd had so much fucking work to do, papers and Jesus Christ now the IRS was on his ass and yes he'd filed a 1040 for 1996 for Christ's sake, and could he take on some advisees and another chapter due and he got through it all, his mind skittering vaguely between the task at hand and Jim's tender hands on that man and how awful it was to have epiphanies in parking lots, that was bad _enough._

On Monday, a professor was murdered with a mail bomb. And it was Blair Sandburg, consultant to the police department, who was somehow, on the case. With Jim Ellison, Major Crimes' lead man, expert on bombers. 

"I'm busy, Simon," Blair had said, thinking that probably the panicked croak of his voice might be a fucking _clue_. But Simon only said, 

"You're always busy, Sandburg. Do me a favor with this. You just have to look around, talk to the press a little, you know." Blair thought, [someday I'm going to learn how to say no.] 

So there he was, in front of a battery of cameras, yes, he was a consultant to the police department, and yes, Detective Ellison was on the case, and no, Detective Ellison, given his experience with bombers was the best man for the job, better even, probably than federal agents, yes he had worked with Detective Ellison for quite some time and, well, yes it was unusual, but given the situation, his knowledge of the university, paired with Detective Ellison's.... 

well. It was the worst day he'd had in recent memory. Because Jim grunted at him and handed him some coffee and started talking as if nothing had ever happened, talking about forensic evidence from the parcel and the possibilities of copycat Unabomber crimes and what had triggered the bomb. And Blair said, 

"well," and "I see" and talked for about fifteen solid minutes on the way people manifested their fears of change and obsolescence through hatred of the modern and how this was often demonstrated by violent acts towards institutions of higher learning, and how, yes, also it might be a disgruntled student. Then he questioned half the people in the department and talked to Taggart ["hey long time no see,"--"yeah, been busy"] about Hockey playoffs. 

Blair went home and thought that he would give anything for Jim to show up and for it to be, even, like it had been before, Jim screwing him on his kitchen counter. He watched Mexican soap operas until two o'clock in the morning, trying at least to work on his Spanish if he was going to waste time with self pity and look at Maria who had risen from the Barrio anyway and how she had left that jackass two-timing Diego behind with barely a sniff. Jim didn't come to his door, didn't break it down, or even just knock. Didn't show up and want to fuck him. Didn't call him. 

Then there was the next day when they had to drive around in the truck and question people and when they were on the road Jim didn't say _anything_ to him. Well, actually, he just talked about the case. Incessantly. The case, the case, did Blair think this witness knew more than he was telling, perhaps they should question the guy's ex-girlfriend. Jim's cell phone rang after this particular train of thought and he picked it up and said, 

"Ellison," and then, 

"hey," with some warmth. 

"No, sorry, I have to work late." and "okay. sounds good." "lower left cabinet" and "see you then. At least by nine." And "oh, wait, the oven is fifty degrees hotter than the dial says." and "lookin' forward to it." 

Then he started talking about the bomb again. [I've got to fucking get out of here] Blair thought, but it was a forty-five minute drive back to town, which meant forty-five minutes in which he considered saying all the manner of things, the most coherent of which was, 

"how dare you, _I_ figured that out about your oven." So he kept his mouth shut. 

Jim dropped him off at the station and Blair got in his car and was most of the way to the loft before he realized it. Just habit--station to the loft--his daily commute for three years. By the time he'd figured this out he was in front of the loft and parking and he realized that he'd left a set of mixing bowls he'd bought for Jim at the apartment. He wanted them back. 

The door was opened right away by the guy from the club. Blair resisted saying "you're the guy from the club," mostly because he thought it might make him look like a stalker. 

"Hello," the guy said. 

"Hello," Blair nodded. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Who are you," Blair said, because he was really curious, he was really fucking curious about this clean-cut guy with the nice shoulders and the guy was trying to close the door and saying 

"look, I really don't think," so Blair used all of his three years of accumulated observing knowledge and actually kicked the door open, whipping his badge out of his pocket and shoving it in the guy's face. 

"Get out, get the fuck out,"he spit, shoving the guy back, "or I will fucking arrest you for trespassing on private property." 

"I'm not trespassing, I was invited here," but he was backing up. [I'm fucking crazy,] Blair thought, dully, shoving the guy, 

"Do I look like I really care?" [I could be on _Cops_ , or something.] 

"Look, Jim won't," the guy tried. 

"I don't care what you want and I don't care what Jim wants, just get the fuck out of here before I go find his spare gun and shoot you." 

This worked. Blair slammed the door behind him and went into the kitchen to see what the guy had been cooking. Potatoes. He threw them out and settled down to wait. Jim got home as promised, at nine. 

"On time, I see," Blair said. 

"I don't want to talk with you," Jim said, shifting gears admirably quickly. 

"Hey, too bad. I'm here. And that other guy you're fucking took off." 

"Blair--" 

"So I guess you're stuck with me." 

"You had something to say, you could've said it in the truck today. 

"You know, I would've, but I couldn't get a motherfucking word in _edgewise_." 

"what's eating you?" 

"oh, I _wonder_." 

"Because I'm not gonna start this again, I'm just not,"Jim said tiredly. 

"Start what?" 

"Start fucking you." 

"Well, you didn't have to in the first place, I mean, we were doing fine before." 

"You started it." 

"I did not." 

"Yes you did. You showed up on my fucking doorstep and wanted to have sex and what could I say?" 

"How 'bout, no thanks Blair, I'm gonna get tired of you in two months anyway." 

"Is that what you think?" 

"Evidence supports it." 

"What did you want me to do?" 

"I don't know, but you didn't have to make it like that, I didn't want that." 

"Fuck me, Jim. Please, I'll do anything. Suck me off," Jim threw at him, imitating his inflection. 

"Shut up." 

"You _asked_ for it." Jim ground out. 

"You _made_ me." Blair answered and Jim looked at him, truly astonished, eyes wide. 

"God, did you think I really cared, did you think I really liked that shit?" 

"Well, you know, you didn't seem to mind," Blair sneered. 

"I didn't want that," Jim said, tersely, turning away from him. 

"You made me do it," Blair repeated, stubbornly. 

"No, you made _me_ do it," Jim bit out, "you wanted some kinky fantasy and I gave it to you for as long as I could because I thought it might be enough, you know, I thought you might finally decide you wanted something else, I thought you might move back or make me muffins or a jungle mix tape for the truck, something, some stupid Blair thing that would let me know that you wanted something other than my dick, than my tongue up your ass." 

"Like that wasn't your fantasy? You're the one who called me on the phone. 'I'm gonna fuck you tonight', remember that?" Blair said, stung. 

"I just thought, you know, if I pushed it far enough, you'd," Jim stopped abruptly. 

"what, I'd what?" 

"no. no way. I don't want to talk about it." Blair looked at him a moment, and then said. 

"Okay, we won't talk about it." 

"You gonna leave?" Jim asked. 

"No." He sat down on the couch and Jim seemed too exhausted to actually pick him up and throw him out, so he said. 

"So that guy." 

"Oh, that's just Greg," Jim said, poking in the refrigerator. 

"So you're not fucking him." There was silence. "you are fucking him." 

"Have to fuck someone," Jim's voice came, around a mouthful of leftover Chinese food that he was eating from the carton. 

"No you do _not_ have to fuck someone. Jim, what, since when?" but Jim only shook his head at him and took another bite of food, so Blair sighed and said, 

"Okay, okay, what does Greg do?" 

"He's an exotic dancer." 

"That guy? That guy is not exotic. That guy is pushing forty." 

"well, we can't all be sexy hardbodies like you." Jim was looking at the Chinese food carton now like it made him sick and Blair turned back around on the sofa and mumbled, 

"yeah. well. I'm more exotic than he is. A jar of pickle relish is more exotic than that guy," and then continued, "So you just picked up this exotic dancer." 

"No, I did not just pick him up," Jim said, annoyed. "I've known him since I worked with him." 

"What?" Blair said, turning back around. 

"I've known him since--" 

"I heard you the first time. So you were an exotic dancer?" 

"naw. I just trained the new talent." Jim said, staring at him levelly. 

"Don't give me that, you can't dance." 

"S'not what I trained them in." 

"I'm not hearing this," Blair turned around to face Jim. "What about, Jim Ellison: vice guy who never did anything gay?" he accused. 

"I lied," Jim shrugged. 

"Yeah. I got that." 

Blair got up and walked around a little. Looked out the windows, looked in his old room. There was nothing there; half a dozen books of his that he'd left, a few of his socks. Nothing else. He came back out and looked at Jim, who looked back at him, so he sighed and tried, 

"I like other things, you know. I like other kinds of sex." 

"I can't have this conversation, Blair," Jim said but Blair kept on, 

"I didn't want you to be some, some fantasy, I wanted you to be my friend. I wanted you to be Jim Ellison, who isn't always, you know, the big guy who fucks me blind. I wanted you to be the big guy with the pulled muscle or the big guy who makes really good meatloaf, I mean, it would've been okay. I, just, I didn't know you were offering that guy. I don't know if you're offering." Jim looked stunned and looked at him a long moment before he said, cautiously, 

"I'm offering." 

"still?" Blair asked. 

"yeah, still, Sandburg," Jim rubbed his face ruefully. "Cant help it. I know I shouldve just said no that first time, but. I couldnt, not even with you being such a jerk. I can't even get rid of you now." 

"I have other fantasies, you know," Blair repeated, intently. 

"yeah?"Jim raised his head. 

"yeah." 

Jim got up and walked over to him and leaned down and kissed him on the wrist and on the forehead and then on the mouth, one hand on his waist and Blair hugged him, and mumbled something against his mouth and Jim said, 

"What?" and Blair said, 

"This is good, this is one of them." 

"What's that." 

"You know, kissing you in the kitchen." And they kissed some more, kissed until Blair's neck hurt and Jim whispered, 

"Come on, I'm not going to do you any crazy place, not the floor or the couch or the goddam kitchen table, I want you in bed." Blair nodded eagerly. They climbed the stairs and Blair sat down on Jim's bed, where they'd never done anything. 

Jim unbuttoned Blair's shirt and then started running his hands over his body and it was better than it had ever been because he wasn't doing it to arouse Blair, specifically, he wasn't paying particular attention to the spots that he knew drove Blair crazy, he was just touching Blair gently, curiously, as if he felt good to his hands and Blair said, 

"That feels good," and his voice sounded thick and a little unreal, and then he said, 

"Uh, could you, your shirt." 

"Yeah," Jim smiled and pulled him up so they could both take off their pants. Blair tumbled him back onto the bed and fit their groins together and he said, 

"Can I," and ran his hand along Blair's ass and Blair said, 

"Yeah, of course," and it was so nice, for once, not to be shaking for it, for it not to be earthshattering, but to be comfortable, warm, to have Jim sort of curiously licking at his chest, humming against him. It was nice not to be screaming for it, not to have to be saying "fuck me, fuck me now, take me," and Blair smiled a little and wiggled against Jim's fingers and said, 

"That's nice," 

"good," Jim said. "good." 

"I wanna do you later," Blair said. 

"good." 

Blair sighed and Jim moved and Blair said 

"yeah," which was almost a gasp and then said, "Whoah. _fuck_. ouch, wait, man." Jim hurriedly said 

"What, oh god, I'm sorry," 

"Not your fault, just, yow. Leg cramp." 

"oh." 

"Let me up." 

"I can get some, something," Jim offered, rolling off him. 

"I just need to walk it off, you know." And he did, as Jim settled himself back against the backboard and watched him. The cramp faded and Blair began to notice how good Jim looked sitting in bed, waiting for him, intent on him, smiling a little, cock hard and red and then Jim said, 

"are you done now?" 

"I like you,"Blair said, suddenly. 

"yeah?" 

"I really really like you,"he repeated, enjoying how the words sounded in his mouth. 

"oh," 

"oh, god, Jim, I'm so sorry, I should have said it first. It's not just, I want you, but, you have to know, I like you first. More than I want you." 

"I like you too, Sandburg." 

"I know. That's, that's so good, too." 

"I love you." A short breath of relief escaped from Blair and he said, 

"I'm so glad. I'm, I love you." 

"Come here," Jim said and scooted over to the side of the bed to grasp the back of Blair's thighs and kiss his hip. "You taste nice," he said "You think you can do me without that leg cramp coming back?" 

"Probably," Blair gasped. "I hope so." 

"Good. Tell me, right?" he patted Blair's hand and rolled over. Blair knelt down and kissed Jim's spine and said, 

"I'll tell you." 

It came back, but Jim just muttered, 

"Damn you, Sandburg, this better not be psychosomatic," and pulled him onto the bed, asking, 

"Do you want a massage?" Blair grabbed his arm and said, 

"No, hell, no, I do not want a massage. I want you to do something about this," he said, indicating his cock. 

"Well, if you're gonna keep--" Jim started, but Blair had wriggled into a sitting position at the head of the bed and was saying, 

"Jim, wild horses couldn't keep me from finishing this, so get over here." Jim grinned and crawled over and kissed him and swung his led over him, saying, 

okay?" before lowering himself carefully onto Blair, who said, 

"that is so much more than okay," reaching out to touch Jim's chest. 

* * *

"So are we never gonna do anything kinky again?" Blair asked. And Jim said, 

"I don't know, I think this is pretty kinky, for us," He was wrapped around Blair, Blair's legs draped across his knees, his nose against Blair's armpit. 

"oh. cuddling. You have a point. It's new and different." 

"You like it?" 

"Jesus, you really have this thing with vocal appreciation, don't you? Wait." He held Jim's arm as he started to uncurl "I like it. I love it, I love you. I'm _here_ , aren't I?" 

"I'm here, too." 

"Well, good." Jim snuffled at his armpit appreciatively and kissed his shoulder and Blair stroked his hair and Jim said, 

"We can do that laundry room thing again. But I'm not talking dirty on the phone again. No way--it used to take me hours to come up with that shit." 

"You did a good job, though." 

"I felt like an idiot." 

"Can we do that only one of us naked thing again?" Blair asked. 

"Yeah, but we can't do anything else on the balcony. I got cement burn on my ass." 

"And you say you suck at talking dirty." 

"Fine. You go ahead and scrape the hell out of your ass on that thing and see how you feel about it," Jim said, yawning. 

"Maybe I will," Blair mumbled, mostly asleep already. 

The next morning, in the kitchen, he said, 

"Jim. I'm sorry." 

"What, what, you're sorry for what?" Jim stuttered, looking alarmed. 

"I. I handled things badly from the beginning." 

"That's all right; I wasn't so graceful either." Jim said. 

"mmm. Well. you sorta hated me for two months. but we're okay, now, right?" 

"I didn't hate you for two months. I just, I thought, I couldn't, I kept hoping you'd think of something to say." He dumped some cereal into a bowl. 

"Hey, I tried to talk to you." 

"Not very _hard_ , though. If you'd really had anything to say, you would have tied me down and said it," 

"Okay. You're right. But you kept, you know, taking off your clothes. It was _distracting_ ," he said, handing Jim the milk. 

" _Will_ you tie me down?" Jim asked, waving his spoon at Blair. 

"you have to ask?" Blair said. 

As they washed the dishes, Jim said, 

"we're okay, now." He touched Blair's nose with a soapy hand. "Good thing, too, because I was running out of lies about why you couldn't make it to work." 

It took Blair until the afternoon to say. 

"what about Greg?" They were in the car driving out try another lead on the bomber. "I mean, maybe I'm an asshole and I don't deserve you." 

"Greg--"Jim started. 

"I'm sure he was a fine exotic dancer in the prime of his youth and that he's a nice guy, but you have to understand, I don't _care_. Omelet. Breaking eggs. You have to dump him." 

"Greg left me a voicemail message this morning stating that he doesn't get involved with people who are involved with psychos," Jim said, dryly. "He said you were a little too, and I quote, 'fatal attraction' for him." 

"oh. It's this next exit." Jim turned and Blair said. "uh, Jim?" 

"yes." 

"I'm not too fatal attraction for you, am I?" 

"nope. You're just enough fatal attraction, Sandburg. Can we try not to get lost here?" he tapped his hand against Blair's leg and smiled. 

"you're warped," Blair said. "It's the next left."

* * *

End Between Friends.

 


End file.
